Till We Have Faces (part 1)
by star wars for Jesus
Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi prepares to fake his death and assume the identity of Rako Hardeen.


"Still sure about this?"

Shudders blasting through every single muscle, every tissue of my body, I meet the gaze of the other being without lifting my head. He's stern-faced, his blunt forehead sealed in a perpetual frown, his cobalt eyes glaring daggers at my lighter ones. Near-human, enough that you'd have to note his hairless skull and ebony skin identify him as Hurann-Kal, but he'd might as well be completely alien. I know I am; from the moment I entered this chamber, hushed and dark and still, something in me twisted. Was wrenched from place, dried of everything that makes me me.

My mouth's gone completely dry, too, and I feel tightness grip my chest. It could be nerves, some sort of stress-but that'd be a watery, bald-faced excuse. I know its emanating from the gravity of what I'm about to do, seeping into my skin like the faint drift of air-conditioning stirring my hair.

I'm going to have to lie…to everyone.

Pulling all the saliva left in my mouth, I swallow. "I'm not afraid to do what needs to be needs to done, Master Windu. You'd certainly do no less if you were in my position."

Windu's straightens, studying me from his full, intimidating height. "Do what, precisely?"

"Deceiving the entire Republic citizenry, for one thing."

A brow steadily creeps out of his eternal frown. "I was certain young Skywalker didn't account for the whole of the populace, Master Kenobi."

Another twist in my chest, and I'm sure I'll collapse right here. Really sure of it. Already I'm sensing the room whirling past me, morphing into a kaleidoscope of uncountable colors, flinging bright, dazzling stars into my vision. "Can we simply be through with this while I'm still feeling moderately guilty."

"I'm afraid you can't simply be 'through' with this, Obi-Wan," the Haraan-Kal warns in heavy, darkened tones. He looks away for a heartbeat, his gaze muddying with every passing nanosecond. "You'll never be. This will stay with you, probably till you really do pass away."

I know it's totally and unforgivably inappropriate, but I can't help letting out a dubious snort. "And what makes you think I'll survive? You and Yoda have said it yourselves: as soon as I assume The Marksmen's identity, there's no telling how things will unfold."

"In a way, I don't believe you're going to survive."

My body goes rigid, turning my back into a sheet of Arkanian ice. There's murmuring in my head, little whispers that I know what he's getting at, what he's really saying. And they scare me. A lot. Because I now know it's not just me who recognizes my inward change, this sudden, devastating cold behind my eyes, and that the danger of it staying is realer than I could've dreamed.

Closing my eyes, I allow myself to sag against one of the room's naked walls . "Where's the chest piece?"

Windu nods to a glossy, vaguely human-ish shape lying to my right. "There it is: we got it formed down to your specific measurements, and—" Realizing I'm eyeing it like it's a baradium missile, the Jedi Master sighs. "If you need some more time, I'll leave you here to get everything in place."

Waves of bile threatening to soar up my esophagus, I mutter a quiet 'thank you' as the other man slips out of the room, then sink to the floor. The chest piece seems to stare at me, unblinking, willing me to just get through with it, despite what Master Windu said. To just embrace my choice, fasten myself into it the piece itself will soon adhere to me, but it's not that easy. It takes me a full ten minutes to work up the courage to strip off my tunic, practically shoving the cold, frigid sheet of metal into my bare chest, strapping it on with numb fingers.

A faint knock sounds at the door, then: "Ready?"

Tugging my tunic over my metallic exo-skeleton, I try to keep more bile from making an undo appearance. "No."

Windu's shaven head materializes in the doorway. "I was referring to the chest piece, actually, but…"

Just to humor him—and myself, I guess—I quirk a little flicker of a smile. "You're going to tell me that I'll never be ready, aren't you?"

"Nearly." He steps further into the room, his normally flinty eyes softer than usual. "But I was also going to ask if you believe it."

"From a certain point of view…no."

"Good. Because I'm not so certain you're yet aware of the full consequences of this mission."


End file.
